


Russian Roulette

by guardyanangel



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Bitten!Sam, Character Death, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardyanangel/pseuds/guardyanangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How dare he make you feel as though you don’t have a choice in whether or not you do this, because it’s him and in this sick, twisted world, you owe him a quick and permanent death for preserving your life?"</p><p>Mid-level spoilers for 'A Voice in the Dark' (S1M9) and possibly minor ones through 'Patient 29' (S1M13). Written in second person, Five/Sam if you want to play the romance route, but also just Five/Sam besties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Russian Roulette

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Tumblr user's post: "If you want to torture yourself, listen to Rihanna’s “Russian Roulette” from the point of view of Five facing a bitten Sam." (http://stelladea.tumblr.com/post/86157503543/if-you-want-to-torture-yourself) As such, it's suggested you read this while listening to said song. 
> 
> Also, I own nothing.

You don’t believe it, at first, when Runner Eight comes up to you and tells you the news. It’s not possible, after all. Sam, bitten?  _How?_

But the look on Eight's face is grim, and you feel your heart sink to the pit of your stomach. You’re running to the bunker they do this sort of work in before you even finish responding to her news.

Dr. Myers is there, along with the Major.

“I convinced them you ought to have the chance to say goodbye, first,” Dr. Myers says, and you numbly nod in thanks before you turn to the other woman. 

“I want to be the one to do it,” you find yourself saying through the haze that seems to surround the world.

Her brow raises, but Dr. Myers is the one who asks the question on both their minds, “Five, are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you answer, even though you’re not sure at all.

If the Major picks up on that, she doesn't comment on it. Just nods and reaches for the gun everyone uses for situations like these, “You ever done this before, Five?”

Somehow, you find yourself smiling so badly it  _hurts_ as you shove back memories you've become so determined not to relive, “Yes.”

She studies you with sharp eyes for a long few moments, but eventually nods and hands the gun to you, "Don't take too long, or we might have to shoot  _you,_ too, and that'd be a waste of an asset.”

Dr. Myers doesn't say anything. Just touches a hand to your shoulder with a look so full of compassion and concern you almost weep.

But instead, you steel yourself and go to kill the man who's saved your life more times than you can count.

_ ~(so just pull the trigger)~ _

He looks so normal, still.

You know how this goes.  _Everyone_  seems normal, at first, except for the bite and—soon enough—the cough. The fever and the red eyes come later, then the rattle, then the moan, and then...

“Five?”

Sam’s looking at you, and you can  _see_ the bite, right there on his arm, but he looks just like he always does and for a moment you wonder if you actually  _can_  do this. He sees the gun at the same moment you see the bite, and his eyes widen.

“Oh, Jesus—you’re going to do it? Five, are you sure? You don’t have to— This is really something we should try to avoid at all costs, you know? It messes you up, doing it to someone you know well.”

You remember, now, how he talked about his parents’ fate with a tremble in his voice and his hands in a tight fist. You remember other things, too, faces of people you've tried to forget swimming in front of your eyes for a moment. 

Doing this messes you up. You know this as well as he does.

And suddenly through the haze of numbness that’s been surrounding you since you've heard the news comes a flash of pure  _rage._ How  _dare_ he put you in this position? How dare he make you feel as though you don’t have a  _choice_ in whether or not you do this _,_ because it’s  _him_  and in this sick, twisted world, you owe him a quick and permanent death for preserving your life?

"What were you even doing outside the gates?" you ask suddenly, "You're not meant to be  _out_ there. You're our  _radio operator!_ What happened to being too valuable to be sent out into the field? You—”

“—D’you know, Five?" he interrupts, and you swear he’s actually trying to sound  _cheerful,_ "I think that’s the most I've ever heard you say in one go, ever. It figures it’d be right when you’re about to kill me. Should've warned me about that: ‘Hey, Sam, I’d speak more than a couple sentences at a time with you, but then I’d have to kill you.’ Just common courtesy, you know?”

“Sam.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right. Maybe explaining that would've taken more than a couple sentences at a time, and you've had to kill me then. I see your point.”

“ _Sam._ ”

“I was just trying to set up something new for the comms,” he says, finally answering your question, “It would've expanded our range. Made it easier to communicate with all of you. Nobody knew the zom was there, and by the time we did—well.” He gestures to the bite on his forearm with a tired grin, “Guess you’ll just have to find out from my replacement if it worked or not.”

“You  _idiot_.”

“I’m told by Eugene and Jack that’s a term of affection. Thank you.”

You mean only to sigh, but somehow the breath comes out sounding almost like a strangled sob, instead. He looks up properly at you with sympathy as he smothers a cough.

“If you close your eyes before you do it, it might help,” he says knowingly, “I promise, I won’t go anywhere if you do.” A bitter laugh, and then he mutters, “Seems to be the problem, actually.”

There’s another bolt of anger and hurt, so sharp you can almost taste it, “How can you  _joke_  at a time like this?”

“Five.” And the soberness in his tone is so like all those times he’s warned you about oncoming zombies you can’t help but pay attention, “How can I  _not?_ I’m about to die. Rather do it like Fred, you know? ‘Last laugh still etched on my face’ and all that.”

Even with the Potter reference he forces to try to lighten the mood, hearing him speak the fact of his impending death aloud breaks something inside you. It takes everything you have to keep a hold on the gun and stay standing, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey… No, it’s not your fault, okay? Don’t you ever think that. You’re right. I was an idiot and I should have been paying attention. It’s my fault and that bloody zom’s that you have to do this, not yours. Alright?”

“Alright.” It doesn't come out, at first. You swallow the lump in your throat and try again, “Alright, Sam.”

He nods, and then he coughs, louder this time. Your hand tightens instinctively around the gun. He notices and nods again, this time more pointedly towards the weapon, “Do it.”

You lift it, aim carefully, and take a breath, but you don’t shoot just yet, “Any last requests?”

He thinks on it a moment, “When you make it through all of this—” And he’s so hopeful, so certain you’ll survive the apocalypse that in that moment you become determined to, for his sake, “—when this is all over, can you try to find my sister? Tell her what happened, if she’s still…” He shakes his head, forces a smile, “Just find her, please.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Thank you, Five.” You almost shoot, then, but you’re halted by his quiet chuckle and his next words, “You know, it’s funny. You’re about to kill me, and I still don’t know your real name.”

It’s true. No one here knows it, save Sara and those who had known you were flying in on the chopper. Coming to Abel and becoming a Runner had seemed to be such a perfect way to leave the past behind, you’d taken it with both hands open. You can't breathe, for a moment, because of all people, he deserves to know, and you never told him until now, “It’s—”

“No. Don’t tell me,” he interrupts gently, “You may be my fourth Runner Five, but you’re  _my_ Runner, mm?”

And that more than anything is what very nearly has you dropping the gun and just going. Has you, for a moment, convinced you can’t do this.

But it’s Sam. The person who kept you alive even when he didn't know you well-enough to really care. The person who you've shared more of your past with than anyone else here at Abel. The person who you were starting to be completely unable to imagine the world without because he was as much a fixture in your life now as the loved ones you've left in the past once were. You have to do this, for him.

Your finger moves more properly towards the trigger, “I love you, Sam.”

It can’t hurt to hear, after all, this close to the end. Even if you’re unsure if these feelings are romantic or platonic, it’s not like it matters, anyways.

He looks surprised, at first, but then his expression softens. You both pretend not to notice the tears in his eyes. You hold his gaze as your finger settles properly on the trigger.

“I love you, too, Fi—”

_Bang._

__ ~(so just pull the trigger)~ _ _

You never do find out what kind of love he means, either. You never try to find out.

Instead, you just lace your shoes tighter before every mission and pretend you aren't imagining that the new voice that comes over your headset is his.


End file.
